The meal passed off pleasantly, and the last member at table had scarcely wiped his mouth with his napkin when Master Suds was announced.
"Here, Helen, my dear," said Oldstone, "you may clear away now, and then you may call in your gallant. I am sure you will excuse me, gentlemen, for making you spectators to my operation?"
"Certainly," answered the club all round.
"There, that will do, Helen; now call him in."
Helen disappeared with the breakfast things, when a timid knock at the door was heard.
"Come in," roared sundry voices at once, and Master Suds appeared upon the scene, with his shaving tackle in a bag, and having his hair frizzled up in a caricature of the latest French fashion.
"Bong jour, Mounseers," he began, with a flourish.
"Don't mounseer me, you young whipper-snapper," said the antiquary; "but learn to speak the king's English when Englishmen honour you with their custom."
"Pardong, mounseer—that is, I mean, I beg pardon, gentlemen; but habit, gentlemen—habit, you know—is rather difficult to get rid of, and when one has just come from foreign parts, like myself, one is apt to——"
"Cut it short, young shaver," said Oldstone, "and bend you to your task. Are your razors sharp?"